


Gift Baskets

by takesguts



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Consensual Sex, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7793731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takesguts/pseuds/takesguts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Gordon has been waiting the better part of a year for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift Baskets

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, I am new to this fandom. But I love it. Please enjoy. Critiques welcomed, encouragement inspires.

 

Sighing, Jim grabs a beer out of his fridge. It’s hot outside, unbearably hot, and he thinks momentarily about how at least he’s not walking the halls of Gotham’s high school, patrolling obnoxious teenagers in no air conditioning.

Thanks to that nosy neighbor of his, he never has to work in that building again. Caused him an awful lot of trouble, though, with her accusations and all of the questioning he had to endure, the hassle of a trial. All because she couldn’t mind her own damn business.

He holds no hard feelings, though, she was merely being a concerned citizen and the charges were dismissed based on lack of evidence. The fact he’d been such an upstanding officer before all that mess occurred also worked rather well in his favor. He should maybe send her a bottle of wine; perhaps a gift basket.

  
The only real negative that happened was that Jim unfortunately could no longer watch Jerome Valeska in between his gym periods - where he looked simply delectable in those tiny little gym shorts and clingy tshirts.

Still, the loss is probably a fair trade considering its Jerome Valeska that got him into all of this trouble in the first place.

Jim stands by what he said in that courtroom; about him being a good man. He’s never touched Jerome, not really, not in the way he was being questioned for. Not once has he crossed a line he shouldn’t and had that boy in his bed.

Not yet, at least. He’s been waiting.

See, Jerome still has a couple of months until his eighteenth birthday. And despite all the boys begging and pleading, the absolute torment he would put the officer through on days he would stop by after school - Jim didn’t take him. Refused, even when the red head would straddle his lap, his perfect little ass pressing and pushing against his unbelievably hard dick while he mocked the officer for being too cowardly.

 

If Gordon maybe once or twice copped a feel, groped Jerome’s ass cheeks, squeezing the pert flesh for just a tiny taste of what he’s been holding out for, he knows he’s not an angel. He is merely human. There’s only so many times a man can watch such a gorgeous creature like Jerome grinding himself against their couch, practically sobbing to be fucked, and not give in a little bit on occasion.

 

"Just a few more months,“ Gordon would murmur, on nights Jerome would get too wild, where Jim knew the only touching he could allow would be his hand stroking the boys hair while he trembled, shifting restlessly like an animal in heat.

 

The words never really pacified the boy, not usually. On those nights, Jerome would almost always leave after what could only be described as a temper tantrum. He would stomp his feet and glare, making sure to harp on the officer’s masculinity, and as ridiculous as it was, those were the times Jim recalled why he was waiting.

 

But all of that was about to change now.

 

Double jeopardy. Once acquitted, a person cannot be charged with the same crime a second time. And that relentless prosecutor who damn near stalked him after his trial, determined that Jim Gordon was not the officer he claimed to be, just handed him his own personal Jerome Valeska gift basket. It wasnt enough that Jim’s reputation was tainted; that he was forced to leave his job at Gotham High, resigned to desk duty detective work, that despite a not guilty verdict people still looked at him differently, that his mother had cried almost every night of his first trial. That he had been humiliated.

 

Nope, that bastard had continued after him, to the point of borderline harassment. Jim had told Jerome to lay off stopping by after school, been careful about messages he sent and where he spent his time. Just showed up to work diligently, and went straight home after.

Only once did he stray from the routine, on a night he thought it was safe to stop by the comic book shop Jerome worked at. Nothing had happened, they just talked - and for the first time since they had started this little, well whatever it was, Jerome seemed almost...concerned. Being told to stay away before had not sat well with the red head at first, who exceptionally disliked being told what to do. But Jim had stressed the severity of the situation, that if they slipped up even a little, there could be some very big trouble for him still. On that night, they just joked. Spoke about movies, and Jerome's grades, which classes he was having a hard time in.

 

What he was planning for his birthday.

 

The look the boy had given him at that statement had been so heated, so dark, that Jim's primal instincts had momentarily flooded his body, forcing him to swallow hard and look away. They changed the subject after that.

 

Of course, it was just such a coincidence the prosecutor from his trial happened to walk by not even a minute later. And that's when he found himself cuffed again, being escorted away from the under-aged boy.

 

This trial went quicker - less investigating, and Jerome's teenage innocence shined so bright in that courtroom while he was interrogated for the second time about Jim Gordon.

 

"He's never touched me," the boy had said, earnest and wide eyed, "Officer Gordon has only been a friend. You see, my mom drinks a lot, is sometimes gone for days. He just checks in on me. No sir, never made me uncomfortable."

He answered all of their questions with the perfect amount of uncertainty, discomfort, and boyish charm. Jim tried hard not to stare, while he was on the stand, but he could feel those green eyes on him the entire time, defiantly promising. Jerome had done his homework, it had seemed.

Jim's skin burned, his guts twisted. This was a mistake, what he was doing; eighteen was still too young, Jim was a whopping sixteen years his senior. What the fuck was he doing?

Then came the second not guilty verdict; and now he can never be tried for statutory rape involving Jerome Valeska again. And it was just then Jim Gordon remember just exactly what the fuck he was doing. He was going to be doing the most lovely piece of boy ass he has ever had the pleasure laying eyes on. Very soon he would be having the pleasure of using his hands, and oh, his mouth, his hard fucking cock thats been blue balling over this little shit for the better half of a year.

Court let out and there were all these handshakes, and apologies.

"We should be honoring men like you," the judge had said, "not prosecuting them. You are free to go."

Free to fucking go.

Which brings him to now - three days later. He had texted Jerome the moment he could, informing him of the verdict. The response had been immediate; eager and filthy and demanding, just like he knew he would be. Jim had said no that night though; just a few more days and it would be the weekend. They waited so long already, what was three more days?

It took a decent amount of convincing, and another one of Jerome's damn near famous tantrums, but the promise of keeping him all night on Friday settled him, just a bit.

Now, its Friday, just around two thirty in the afternoon, just about the time school lets out. In roughly twenty minutes, Jerome will be turning down his street, his own personal fucking gift basket, almost complete with a goddamn big, red bow.

One more beer, then two - just that nice, buzzed feeling beneath his skin, his stomach pooling with heat, nearly a match for the temperature outside. On the counter, his phone vibrates, but he's standing by the window and he can see Jerome turning down the walkway to his house.

Big red fucking bow, Jim swears.

At the door, Jerome sings, "Jiiiimmy. Oh Officer Gordon, you better open this door, or I'll huff and I'll puff."

Grinning, Jim swings the last of his beer and heads for the door. There's no reason for the pounding in his chest, or the way his breath catches in his throat. Pausing for just one moment, he forces himself to take a breath. Jerking off this morning was supposed to take the edge off, but he's practically salivating by the time he pulls the door open.

Jerome is standing there, looking just as predatory as Jim feels.

It takes all of his willpower not to pull him in by his throat. He manages at least to get the door shut.

"Afternoon, Officer," Jerome croons, his voice tight against the grip on his neck, "what can I do ya for?"

**Author's Note:**

> This ended so abruptly, I apologize. Its my first go in this fandom, and I was nervous. Also, I didn't think actual smut really worked in this fic. But perhaps I can be convinced otherwise, who knows.
> 
> Getting back into writing is hard - I take requests at takesguts.tumblr.com


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